GoBengalsSuperBowl.Com

Irony, you fickle bitch.

It would seem only natural that the one time I start to believe in this team, the one time I allow my hope to start to come out of hiding, the moment I declare that an 8-0 start to the year is a distinct possibility, the Bengals would then proceed to play 11 15 quarters of some of the worst football I’ve ever seen. I suppose I have only myself to blame. You would think I would have figured it out by now, after a decade of dashed hopes and downtrodden devotion, but alas I still have the same lesson to learn, just in a different way.

This would be the point in my posts of the past where I would trot out the rushing board and point out how our opponents running backs are racking up yards as if the defense wasn’t there. That was certainly the case against the “I-don’t-think-you-can-make-the-case-they-are-among-the-elite-of-the-league” Patriots where Laurence Maroney had an average of 8.3 yards per rush, netting himself 125 yards on just 15 attempts. For once however, it isn’t the defense that needs to be ragged upon. Now it is not the defense that is failing alone, but the offense has grown sick as well.

Most notably is the poor pass protection of the offensive line. Palmer is being haggled and harassed almost every time he drops back it seems, and that is affecting the entire offense. I think this is the primary cause for Chad Johnson’s disappearance from the scoreboard and stat sheet. C.J. doesn’t have time to run deep routes when Palmer has to get the ball out quickly because the QB has defensive linemen in his face.

Now, rather than Chad being the first read on passing situations, it seems to me that T.J. Houshmandzadeh is now Palmer’s #1 receiver. Whereas Chad has more total yards for the year (451 vs. 422), both he and T.J. have an equal number of receptions (36), but T.J. has twice as many touchdowns (4 vs. 2). I think the tide has shifted toward Housh, but I’m not sure that’s a good thing.

For seven weeks, the Bengals had no swagger. There was no Chad Johnson on the microphone explaining how many touchdowns he planned to get that week, or which corner back he was calling out. Last week that all changed, finally, but it didn’t matter as the o-line couldn’t give Palmer time, and the defense was unable to stop a now deadly passing Michael Vick.

The Bengals are in real trouble. The defense is still having problems stopping opponents, and now the offense is starting to sputter. We’re 4-3 right now, and there are four other teams in the AFC at 4-4 or better who aren’t leading (or tied in) their division. That’s five teams competing for only two Wild Cards.

I am worried.

Dear Cincinnati Bengals,

What. The. Hell.

I’ve talked about before how I get to see very few Bengals games on TV, especially this year for some reason. I was resigned to only seeing you guys on TV during the playoffs – which I was positive you’d make – so it came as a pleasant surprise when I was flipping through the channels on Sunday (a rare activity for me, since I usually just wander between the devil’s triangle of ESPN, ESPN2, and the Weatherscan channel) and stumbled across the ol’ orange and black. It’s a Christmas miracle! I thought to myself with glee and promptly settled down to some serious football watching, armed with a plate of hastily-prepared, yet incredibly delicious nachos and an ice-cold Pacifico. This is going to be the best Sunday ever!

But since this is GBSB, where expectations go to die, and my excitement was short lived. In fact, I even flipped away from the game before it was over, so great was my disgust. Bengals, what the fuck was that travesty you called a football game??

Yeah, yeah, the score was close, the ref reversed a call, etc. et. al. cry me a fucking river, you losers. How could this game even be that close? The Bucs are the worst team in the NFC South (a division which the Saints are leading, for christ’s sake) and you let them get their first win off you. You lost your division lead to the Ravens and, even worse, the Steelers are now only one game behind! How are you supposed to make the playoffs, let alone the Super Bowl, if Chris Simms’ spleen is better at taking out players than your defense is? If the Falcons second-string can cake walk all over your collective asses, then how many points are Steve Smith’s Panthers going to score?

And Bengals offense, do you think you’re off the hook? Hell no. Start playing better, you chumps. 13 points in the last two games? That’s Raiders-style hideous. Carson, you looked so much better in pre-season than you do now, that it physically makes me ill. Don’t worry about the knee thing or the fact that your o-line might not be as good as it was last year – you are a great QB and we believe in you, buddy. Just lob the ball down the field and trust in your receivers to make the play. And speaking of receivers, if Chad Johnson reverting back to the faux T.O. lite-esque ass he was last season means that the offense puts up more points, then I say go for it. At least he was funny then.

Bengals, you may think I’m being harsh. Maybe I am. But I only yell at you because I’m disappointed in you, Cincinnati Bengals. Look, you don’t see me giving the same pep talk to my hometown team, the 49ers. I’ll let you in on a little secret why: they legitimately suck and they will continue to suck for a while yet. Bengals, you don’t suck. You have a cadre of players who already decent at their young age and who will only get better as they mature. There is hope for great things in your future: but there is also hope for the present. You need to live up to and exceed your potential.

So get out there and play like the fucking football players you know you are. You have a loyal and supportive fan base that believes in you and would follow you to the ends of the earth – or the Super Bowl.

Next time I watch you on TV, do your best to make me proud. Play football.

We played terrible. Do I really need to say more than that?

Our defense, once again, had trouble stopping the run. Willie Parker amassed 133 yards on 31 carries for an average of 4.3 yards per rush. If someone manages to get over three yards per carry that isn’t particularly good. Over four? Inexcusable.

I’m not encouraged by the way our defense has played, and I’m even less encouraged that they’re going to get better. With Pollack out for the year with a broken neck, and now Thurman out just as long with a broken brain, those are two missing puzzle pieces we needed.

I was very happy with the way Pollack was starting to come along towards the end of last ear. I’m afraid his injury will set him back. We’ll see in 2007 it would seem.

Thurman on the other hand…what is there to say? Stupidity rules the year for him. I’ll be shocked if he is back with the team next year.

Luckily for us on Sunday however, we didn’t need either of their services. We could have used them, but we were able to overcome them. We owe a debt of gratitude to a certain Steelers quarterback, one B. Roethlisberger.

What happens when your caretaker quarterback can’t take care of the ball? More often than not, you lose. Do I really need to go over the win/loss records of teams that come out on the short end of the turnover battle in a game?

And yes, all you Steelers fans who are already typing furiously comments to this post, Roethlisberger is a caretaker quarterback. His primary role is to not screw it up for the rest of the team. The run still dominates the Steelers offense, and a gifted passing talent isn’t needed, or possibly even wanted, at QB. A high-scoring, wide open offense is not the Pittsburgh way.

Yes, he does have an damned impressive record as the starter. Not to mention the fact that he can put a Super Bowl ring on his finger, despite his incredibly poor performance on Super Sunday. That does not change what his role is for the Steelers.

His mistakes, more than any other player, lead to the Bengals victory on Sunday. Once again our defense was able to create the mistakes we needed to win. I am happy that we won, but troubled by how we did it. I don’t like winning by turnovers.

As we all know, when a has a negative turnover ratio way more often than not they lose the game. There should be no argument when I say then, that good teams do not turn the ball over. If you want to beat a good team, sooner or later you’re going to have to stop relying on the strip or the pick, and just flat out prevent them from doing what they want to do with the football.

We haven’t beaten a good team yet. The Steelers may be a good team by the time we see them again New Years Eve. Right now however, with a 1-2 record and having played very, very poorly the past two weeks, no one can seriously argue Pittsburgh is one of the elite teams in the NFL. Not at this point in the season.

So I’m left to wonder how we’re going to do against the better teams in the NFL. At this point, after how the Patriots have played so far in 2006, I don’t think you can make the case they are among the elite of the league. I know all of the football pundits love to slurp The Golden Boy, but I’ve left my handkerchief in my other coat.

Looking at our schedule, we may not face a quality team until Baltimore on November 5. New England was the first team we faced with a winning record, and until we face the Falcons on October 29, none of the clubs on our schedule can boast the same. That’s not encouraging when you’re trying to gauge your team.

I think we can beat the Falcons, so we could very well be 8-0 when we go to Baltimore. If they are as for real as their 3-0 record suggests, we could be in for a contest.

The waiting truly is the hardest part.

“I have a surprise for you!”

I awoke a couple Saturday’s ago to hearing these words from my wife. A surprise? Well now, this might be interesting.

I admit, I’m not really one for suspense or delayed gratification. This has caused more than a little grief to my wife on various occasions during our lives together. Being told of a surprise instantly got me to start asking questions.

“You’ll just have to be patient and find out what it is!”

She does that just to tweak me, you know.

In my head however, I had a sneaking suspicion of what this surprise might entail. Unbeknownst to her, I’m on the Cincinnati Bengals mailing list. I didn’t actually plan to be on the list, mind you, but after one innocent inquiry as to how much season tickets were I went on the Big Spenders™ list. Season tickets aren’t that expensive, really, at least not as much as I thought they would be. Given that I don’t quite yet live in the immediate Cincinnati metro area however, I didn’t cut a check for a pair. Well, that and the fact that I don’t know anyone else who’d go with me.

Earlier in the week an email went out to everyone on the list announcing a Mock Game at Bengals training camp. I may not live in the Cincinnati area, but I do live not more than 30 minutes from Georgetown College, and in fact my sister-in-law was a recent graduate of said school, so I was already familiar with it.

“Will I need sunscreen?” I began to inquire.

“I don’t know!” She replied, “Just be patient!”

So I get dressed, eat a little something, and I’m ready to go.

“Put this on,” she says handing me a blindfold.

“No, I’m not wearing that!”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll look stupid riding around in the car with that thing on.”

“ARGH. Fine. But you have to close your eyes when I tell you to. You can pretend to be asleep.”

“How long is it going to take us to get there?” By this point my curiosity was having a resurgence.

“A little while.”

“More than an hour?”

“No. Be patient!”

Foiled again.

So in the car we go heading north. My wife takes the outer belt around Lexington that dumps us out on to I75, which seemed to confirm my suspicions. It seems I’ll be going to a Bengals game.

For the past couple of years I had talked about going up to training camp. Living so close to Georgetown it seemed too easy to run up there and see what was going on. I hadn’t, however, actually…you know…gone.

I do have a valid excuse, given that I work for another college that always starts up during training camp. Getting things ready for the students to return, which happens right about this time every year, leaves little time for recreation. So, I was still a training camp virgin.

I also have never actually been to a real live NFL football game. As a child I lived too far away to attend, well, any game, Bengals or not. Now that I’m close enough to my favorite team so that driving up for a game and down again wouldn’t be that big of an issue, no one else I know actually watches football. The most the people I know say about football is how Tim Couch got the shaft. Don’t get me started on the crap I have to hear about Jared Lorenzen.

“Ok, close your eyes!”

We bounce along I75, and I see nothing with my eyes shut tight. I know where we’re going by this point, but I’m keeping up the illusion that I’m ignorant as to our destination. My wife is genuinely pleased with herself that she’s come up with this little scheme of her’s, and I’m happy to play along.

“Ok, open your eyes!”

Before me I see cars lining the road we’re driving in on. Orange and black banners hang from the light poles, and I know where we are. For the first time ever I’m actually going to see NFL football players play live, right in front of me. I’m genuinely excited.

We pay $12 for parking, stop our car, and head in to the stadium. It’s already filling up, despite us being more than an hour from kickoff. With the home side nearly full we go across to the visitors half and find a couple of good seats.

I notice a few things at this point. Chief among my observations was the sun, and how it was furiously beating down on both of us. The was no shade to be found.

My wife, wonderful planner that she is, brought along a bag with water and sunscreen. We both begin smearing it on all of our exposed surfaces, as we both tend to get burned as easily as the Bengals run defense. Having settled in, I get ready for some football.

As the opening workouts commence the players make their way out on to the field. Carson Palmer is, of course, nowhere to be found. Rudi, Chad, and T.J. are here however, so I take solace that I will at least get to watch them, even if I have to suffer the quarterbacking of Anthony Wright.

The players line up to go through their stretching exercises and I notice that there is one player in particular who isn’t really in to all of these various drills. Namely, #85. As the other players bend down, over, and around, Chad is tossing a football, making half-assed attempts to stretch, and various other things. It’s good to know he’s getting in game shape as well.

The game finally starts, and the announcers attempt to explain the scoring system used for the game over the loudspeakers. Sacks are worth one point, tackles for loss worth a point, interceptions four points, things like that, for the defense. Offense also had some scoring opportunities besides the normal touchdowns and field goals, but with the incessant mumbling of the announcers over a sub-standard system, it was impossible to hear them clearly.

Play begins with the black team on offense. In short order Anthony Wright has thrown several nice passes, including a touchdown, to TJ Houshmandzadeh. Rudi is also running well. The afore mentioned Chad Johnson however, he wasn’t having the best day.

#85 had a couple short passes for a small gain, and he looked ok. Right about as I’m thinking to myself, “When’s Chad going to do something?” he does it. Namely, he lets a pass go off his hands, tipping the ball right to the defender, who runs it back for a score.

Oops.

It would be bad enough that one pass he tipped was intercepted, but Chad wasn’t done. He also managed to tip a second pass to a cornerback who caught it for the interception. The second one, at least, wasn’t run back for a touchdown.

Despite it just being a mock game, it was fun to watch. This was the first time I had actually seen real live NFL players playing football. Now, if I can just get to Paul Brown Stadium to see an actual NFL game…

After the game was over, the mass throngs of fans crowded around the fence for autographs. Being new at this, and the fact that it was a surprise (mostly), I didn’t have anything for anyone to sign. Plus, I was starting to get a little hot. Ok, not just a little.

The sun and I, well, we tend to agree to disagree. I am definitely a fall and winter person, and while my wife enjoys the spring and summer months, she will burn very easily. We had the sunscreen, but it didn’t seem to be enough.

After driving home it was clear that both of us had a little too much sun. We had tried to use the sunscreen, as I said, but by the time we both were seated I was already starting to sweat a little bit. I would then come to find out that sunscreen and sweat, well, they don’t mix.

I got a nice sunburn, mainly around my neck and shoulders. My wife on the other hand, got a burn even worse than I did. She’s already fair-skinned, so three hours under the burning heat didn’t mix well with her complexion. Not only was she pink in some places, but she had a few areas of deep red. It wasn’t pretty.

This season, for the first time in a long time, I actually have hope for the Bengals. Carson Palmer didn’t play that day, but I saw his return game a couple weeks later, and I was impressed. He looked good, real good, and my hope has begun to spring. The season starts tomorrow. Let’s hope I don’t get burned again…

The other day I’m doing the usual things I do when it isn’t football season. Namely, playing video games. In this case EVE Online, which has become my latest obsession after some real-life non-Bengals-loving friends got me interested in it. While I’m in the other room hauling crokite around New Eden, my wife is in the other room watching the extra features included with her brand new, special edition copy of Phantom of the Opera: The Movie. After staring at the computer screen for hours on end, I needed a break, so I wandered in to our living room to see how the making-of documentary was coming along.

“Did you know the girl who played Christine was only sixteen when she made this movie?”

“Huh? Sixteen?”

“Yeah, she was only sixteen years old.”

Yes, my dear fellow Bengals fans, I have come before you to confess my sins. Unbeknownst to me, I had previously encouraged those of you of the heterosexual male persuasion to get through having to watch Phantom of the Opera: The Movie with your girlfriend/wife by fantasizing about a sixteen year old. Apparently, everything was not as it appeared to be.

I think this pretty much sums up the Bengals 2005-2006 season in a nutshell, doesn’t it?

For someone who professed to not be a Bengals fan, their 17-31 post season loss to the Steelers has hit me far harder than I ever thought possible.

I’m probably going to sound weird here, but for a couple weeks afterward I could barely think about it. I didn’t visit my usual sports sites or even this site, I was that depressed.

I know all season long I’ve been saying that the Bengals wouldn’t make it to the Super Bowl. I wasn’t saying this for the same reason that JANET was - namely that the defense wasn’t good enough yet, or for the same reason that Niko was - that the team was cursed by the malicious ghost of Paul Brown. I didn’t think the Bengals would make it to the Super Bowl because I truly didn’t believe in them. Yeah, in the clap your hands and believe in faeries sort of way. I told you this would get fruity.

It took their loss to the Steelers, their horrible, agonizing loss, to show me how much I believe in this damn team. That’s why I have this crushing sense of agony. I genuinely think that the Bengals could have beaten the Steelers if Palmer had’t had gotten hurt. I really believe, and having the season end the way it did is absolutely devastating.

It’s official: I’ve become a Bengals fan.

So where was I, again? Oh yeah, the game. Gee, how could I forget.

I’m still incredibly pissed off. It’s only now after a few days that I can at least form coherent sentences about what I witnessed on Sunday. Truthfully though, I’m not all that angry that Cincinnati lost the game.

I’ll let all of you in on a little secret…I was happy the Bengals lost against Kansas City. I didn’t want to play the Steelers in the first round of the Playoffs. I would much rather the Patriots had to deal with them on Wild Card Weekend.

Because I was scared of Pittsburgh? Yeah, as if. I didn’t want that game because I knew how it would be in the end. Two fierce division rivals, one up and coming and the other clinging desperately to their hold at the top. It was going to be an ugly, awful, grudge match of a football game, and I didn’t expect it to end well for either team.

Well, I was half right.

No, I’m not pissed about losing the game. What I’m angry about is…Akili Smith. I’m enraged regarding David Klingler. I’m mad because finally, after fifteen years, our Can’t Miss-quarterback finally didn’t. And now…what?

Oh, I know. It was an accident. This is football. It’s a dangerous game. The things just happen. Kimo von “I-was-blocked-into-Palmer-I-would-never-do-that-to-another-player-it-was-a-complete-accident-gosh-I’m-real-sorry-about-what-happened-

OH-GOLLY-GEE-I-DON’T-KNOW-HOW-MY-ARM-GOT-
WRAPPED-AROUND-HIS-
LEG-LIKE-THAT-JUST-LIKE-
I-WAS-TACKLING-HIM-IT-
MUST-HAVE-BEEN-THE-WIND-
YOU-KNOW-IT-SURE-WAS-
BLOWING-LIKE-CRAZY-AT-
THE-STADIUM-THAT-DAY”-

Oelhoffen is completely innocent.

For the past few months I’ve been saying that the Bengals were a year away. Next year if the defense came along as it should, and David Pollack’s beginning emergence as the stud defender we thought he could be is evidence of that, then Cincinnati would be a legitimate Super Bowl contender. Next year was going to be the year that the Bengals became a very real threat to win it all. And now?

Now, assuming everything goes well in rehab, Cincinnati might make the 2008 Playoffs. The best we had to hope for was that the tears to Palmer’s ACL and MCL were clean to make the repair easier. Yes, you read that right. All of Bengaldom was waiting for word that Palmer’s ligament system was completely torn apart, and that was the best news we could get. Apparently the surgery has gone well, so thank goodness for small favors.

Palmer won’t be 100% for next year. The best case is that the season after next Palmer has fully recovered and the Bengals have a chance to make the Playoffs. Worst case is that he can never take another snap in the NFL again. After fifteen years, our second-year starter, leader of the team, and valid 2005 NFL MVP choice could never play football again.

Am I being a little over the top with my melodrama? Perhaps. After fifteen years however, I think we’re all allowed to let the dramaqueen inside us all scream a little bit.

So what are we left with? Oh, that’s right! Assuming we sign him, we’ve got Jon Kitna! He’s one of the best backups in the league! After all, I totally didn’t see him running around the backfield for ten seconds like a complete idiot looking for someone to throw the ball to TWICE causing me to yell at my television as I was eating dinner off of a TV tray, “YOU’VE GOT TO THROW THE BALL JON!” did I?No, I couldn’t have. That must have been some other quarterback. That probably happened after I turned the game off with roughly six-plus minutes left in the fourth quarter to wash dishes, seven seconds after Kitna threw his second interception on the day (Two seconds saying “Damnit, Kitna” + two seconds to shake my head in disbelief + one second to set my fork down + one second to pick up the remote + one second to press the Power button. And yes, I timed it.).

At least my ice cream was good.

Sunday I’m assisting my wife in taking down all of the Christmas decorations, finally, including disassembling the tree and packing up all of the ornaments. In the background I have on football, stealing glances over fake evergreen limbs and pausing for a play every time I set an ornament on the floor for my wife to wrap in tissue paper or put back in its box. I, of course, had already taking special care to properly package all of my Hallmark Star Trek and Star Wars ornaments, which my wife would banish to the back of the tree if she could (”Wouldn’t they look so much better on the other side, Sweetie?”).

“What time do the Bengals come on?” she asks.

“4:30,” I reply.

I have already invoked “I’M BUSY” the line that I only save for very special occasions when my manhood requires that I be in front of the television watching an important sporting event. Every year I unwrap it like a piece of fine crystal for the last Saturday of Ohio State’s football season when they play Michigan. She usually goes shopping that day.Today however, I’m staring at the pile of Christmas cheer strewn about the living room. There’s no way all of this will be boxed up and put back in the garage by 4:30. My couch is filled with a snow white male and female teddy bear, each with our first Christmas year of “2002″ stamped on their paws, a Snoopy in a Santa hat, and various other wreathes and such. The coffee table, or as I like to refer to it, “footrest,” is filled with candles, small boxes, knick knacks, and then more candles. 4:30 is two hours from now. There’s no way this is all put away by then.

It didn’t necessarily have to be this way, you know. We could have put all this up yesterday, but that was my wife’s Day Off. My wife never takes a Day Off, despite my council that she should relax for an evening now and then. She is always dusting, vacuuming, ironing, organizing, or some other project she knows about that I would rather put off because, well, I’m a man. I wasn’t about to suggest that we put away the Christmas horde on Saturday because the decree of a Day Off had already gone out, and she deserved it, so I decided to take one for the team.

So instead on Saturday I played video games, watched the Playoffs, and went to Wal-Mart to buy a candy thermometer so I could make some vanilla ice cream in my new ice cream maker that my wife bought me for Christmas. She, on the other hand, watched Mona Lisa Smile which she had checked out from the library the other day. She also picked up De-Lovely, and we watched it Saturday night after I had broiled some steaks for dinner.

I had seen the previews for De-Lovely and thought that it might be a good movie for she and I to watch together. I’ve seen some Cole Porter musicals, and although it was a love story of sorts, it couldn’t be that bad. Plus, it had Ashley Judd in it, and she gets naked in every movie she’s in, so they’ll be a little something for every gender.

Ashley Judd however, couldn’t have picked a worse time to develop a higher moral standing.

Here’s a tip from me to you: Don’t see De-Lovely. I’ll save you the trouble by summarizing the entire film right now: Kevin Kline plays Cole Porter who would rather sleep with men then Linda Porter, his wife, played by Ashley Judd. The movie is totally unbelievable and impossible to take seriously for that simple fact alone. Let’s face it, if you could have the option between any man and Ashley Judd, who would you pick? Exactly.

Ladies, you’ll hate this movie as well. Trust me, my wife didn’t like it, and she dragged me to see Phantom of the Opera: The Movie when it was only open at select cities. How Lexington, Kentucky, got to be a “select city” I’ll never know, but my wife loved it, so you know she likes chick flicks, girls. Trust me, stay away from De-Lovely because is De-Sucks.Brief Aside #1: Men, you actually may be able to survive watching Phantom of the Opera: The Movie with your girlfriend/wife. Here’s how I did it: Stare at and think dirty thoughts about the woman playing the lead, Christine. Holy bloody hell is she hot. Although, those of you who don’t find slender girls attractive may want to concentrate on something else.

Brief Aside #2: After the movie was over, the audience of Phantom of the Opera: The Movie, mainly composed of middle aged women and a couple husbands/boyfriends like myself who in our minds had just watched the money shot with Christine, applauded. They actually clapped at the end of the film. Can someone please explain to me exactly why? Who the hell are they clapping for? There’s no one on stage who’s going to take a bow. What, did they want to congratulate the teenager in the booth? “Way to turn that projector on, son! And the way you had it pointed at the screen centered perfectly like it was? Top notch!”So where was I? Ah yes, Sunday.

There was a third DVD that my wife picked up, a BBC production of Jane Eyre. We had both read the novel in a literature class we took in college, so I thought maybe I could suffer through it as well. Looking at the back when she brought it home however, I noticed something. Namely, the running time: 306 minutes. It wasn’t a movie, it was a damned miniseries! I hate the British!So as we are starting to put away the Christmas decorations that Sunday morn, Jane Eyre is sitting on top of the DVD stack on the coffee table. “The DVDs have to go back today. She’s going to want to watch it,” I thought to myself. “But I’ve already invoked I’M BUSY! There’s no way she’d try and watch that thing when she knows the Bengals first Playoff game in fifteen years is coming on, right?”

I’m panicking. I sat through De-Lovely despite its de-suckitude, but there is no way in hell I’m missing the Bengals game for pretentious British tripe. That’s why we have a second television in the computer room after all, so I can watch football and Battlestar Galactica while she watches figure skating and Numb3rs.I’m pumped up and ready to go down with the ship on this one. “We’re watching the Bengals because I’m the man of the house and I said so! Bengals now! Bengals forever, HONEY!“Jane Eyre never left its case at anytime on Sunday.

…

Ok, Jane Eyre never left its case because my wife never mentioned watching it, knowing that I wanted to watch the Bengals game. Here’s a helpful hint to all of you other men out there: You are not the man of the house. Well, you are, only because you have a penis as opposed to a vagina, but you are not in charge. Your job is to kill spiders and other assorted bugs, take out the garbage, replace the kitchen faucet (as I did Sunday morning), and mow the grass. And then there’s that whole love/companionship/security thing, but that’s besides the fact.

To be continued…

The Bills? The Bills? Good lord. Too angry to write coherently. Merry Christmas, you bastards.

It’s been a rough week. The Bengals, after coming off a hilariously lackluster performance against the Texans, were trounced by Jacksonville, a team they should have easily beat. On the homefront, my wife and I had our first child a few days ago and my life since then has been filled sleepless nights and diaper-filled days.

Fortunately, I was able to take some time today to sit down today and watch my first Bengals game with my new son. Now, there’s lots of things I could say about today’s game. The defense was inept. The offense didn’t produce enough. Jacksonville plain ran them over. But none of those things really seem important now.

For once, I’m actually giddy with joy about the future of the franchise. When I was growing up as a boy in Cincinnati, the Bengals were perennial losers, the punchline to the joke that was the AFC. Now they might actually be contenders for the Super Bowl this year. Even if they don’t go all the way this year, they will certainly be better next year and the year after that. They’re a young team and they have a solid coach who can only get better from here.

A lot of my friends talk about how they worshipped Joe Montanna or John Elway when they were boys. Being a Bengals fan, I never really had any heroes to look up to like that. It brings a smile to my face to think that maybe, just maybe someday my son will look at Carson Palmer the same way that those boys looked at their football heroes.

Who knows how this team will ultimately turn out, but for once I hold out hope for the future of the Bengals.

(your regularly scheduled, hate-filled poster will return next week - Niko)